


Wide Open

by unsettled



Series: Old Adages [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Far From Home
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Embarrassment, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Gags, Humor, Insecurity, Kinktober, M/M, POV Tony Stark, Quentin Beck has a big dick universe, Spider gags, Tony is still kind of an ass, slight kink negotiation, smugness, spit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27309043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: When Tony had told Beck ‘you haven’t had a blowjob from me’, he’d been planning on fixing that.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Tony Stark
Series: Old Adages [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982093
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35
Collections: Unsettled's Kinktober 2020





	Wide Open

“What,” Quentin says, “is that?”

Tony grins. “That is what’s going to let you fuck my throat until you come.”

Quentin stares at it. Stares at him. “I— okay, that didn’t really answer my question,” he says, a little distracted. He should be a lot distracted, Tony thinks. “And we’ve talked about this; I don’t need that, I don’t want to do something you have to force.”

“Oh, for—” Tony sighs. Quentin is just so delicate sometimes. “It’s a spider gag. And yes, you will fit through it, yes it will fit in my mouth.” Quentin’s still frowning. Tony steps closer to him, reaching out and reeling him in. 

“The problem isn’t that I have to force it,” Tony says as Quentin settles against him. He kisses Quentin, quick and soft. “The problem is that my jaw gets tired too soon, and that I’m worried about accidentally biting you. This solves both of those.”

“Your mouth’s open just as much,” Quentin mutters. “How is that less tiring?”

Honestly. “It’s a different kind,” Tony says. “I’m not having to do the work with it in. Trust me on this, okay? Have I steered you wrong yet?”

“No,” Quentin admits. “Okay, no, you really haven’t. Just— fuck, Tony. I don’t know. You could be there forever, you know I don’t get off quickly from blowjobs.”

“Mmm, but you do get off,” Tony says. And it had been fun, proving Quentin wrong about that. “That’s sort of the point of the gag, though. Or part of it. That it can take forever.” He slides his hand down Quentin’s stomach, lower, and he’s interested. Obviously so, but Tony’s learned that doesn’t mean Quentin is going to do anything about it. On some level, it’s understandable, especially with Quentin’s history. 

But fuck, hasn’t Tony shown he’s better than that? 

“Look,” Tony says. “You know I’m not going to make you or anything. I’m not ignoring what you’re saying, I’m really not. But I really want to at least try this, and if you hate it, if it doesn’t work, we can just stop. I’m not going to get all pissy at you or fake it. You know that.” He might know it, but he’s pretty sure Quentin still doesn’t quite believe it. 

Quentin sighs. “I mean... fuck, it sounds ridiculously hot, of course I want to try it. I’m just—” He shakes his head. Tucks his head down into Tony’s neck. “What if I do hurt you?”

If he hurts Tony, Tony’s going to have a hell of a time convincing Quentin to do anything new again. “You won’t.”

“But what if I _do._ What— you won’t be able to talk, Tony. What if you want to stop and you can’t even tell me?”

“I have plenty of ways to make you stop,” Tony tells him. “You’re not going to be able to force me into anything, Quentin. And I can make it perfectly clear that I’m not happy without words.”

He can feel Quentin’s forehead creasing, how he’s frowning, still hiding against Tony’s neck. “But what if I don’t understand,” he says. “What if I miss it? What— Tony, what if I—” 

Fuck, Tony really, really wishes he could back and tell off Quentin’s past partners. That had not been a fun conversation, but— Tony does understand. “Hey,” he says, softer. “If—” He snaps his fingers, loud; Quentin jumps. “You’ll notice that, right? If you aren’t noticing and I want to stop, I’ll do that, okay?”

Quentin’s thinking about it, he can tell. He tugs Quentin’s head up, turning him so he’s looking at the gag, and kisses the edge of his jaw. Moves lower, kissing as he goes, and it’s maybe a little unfair. But Quentin will like it. 

“Okay,” Quentin says. “Alright, Tony. We’ll try.”

Tony should get points for refraining from pumping a fist in the air. 

He lets Quentin help with getting the gag situated, once they’re both naked; it might help with his worry a little. Tony knows it looks intimidating, but it’s really not, and it’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than a plain ring gag. “Look,” he points out to Quentin. “I’ve even got one that’s wrapped, see? It’s not nearly as uncomfortable as it looks.”

Quentin rolls his eyes, so he’s starting to find his footing again. “Gimme one last kiss before it goes on,” Tony says. 

It’s a good one. 

The gag really isn’t awful. It’s big, sure, but Tony’s had bigger things in his mouth. It doesn’t pull that much around his lips, and it’s not banging against his teeth or anything. He’s modified the straps a little to stay in place better, and just— he knows this gag. He’s comfortable with it.

Quentin looks at him, his eyes wider. Touches the metal bits that stick out, gently, and traces around Tony’s mouth. If Tony could, he’d grin, but he has to settled for waggling his eyebrows ridiculously. It gets him a laugh at least. “Okay,” Quentin admits. “That’s— uh. That’s pretty hot.” 

Ugh, that is the one massive drawback to this; Tony can’t _talk._ Screw telling Quentin he wants to stop— it’s far worse that he can’t tell Quentin anything else, can’t tease him or talk dirty to him or let him hear just how much Tony is enjoying things. Or tell him to hurry up and get his cock in Tony’s mouth because he’s drooling for it. Literally. 

He starts to drop to his knees, but Quentin catches him, shaking his head. Steers him over to the bed instead, and sure, Tony gets it, he’d rather sit. Or not, because he shoves Tony onto the bed, standing in front of him. 

Tips Tony’s head back. “That’s kind of gross,” Quentin says, running a finger through the line of drool that’s already started down Tony’s chin. It’s only going to get worse. Tony knows this, and it’s slightly humiliating, every time. It’s not like he can help it, and it’s half the point of gags like this, but it’s next to impossible not to feel embarrassed with spit running down your chin, down your chest, dripping from your mouth in long strings and being completely unable to do anything about it.

“Are— are you blushing?” Quentin says, staring at him. “Really?” and the scrutiny only makes Tony’s face feel more flushed. He sets his finger to the top of Tony’s cheek. “I’ve never seen you blush,” he says. “Red faced, yeah, but not blushing. Thought you were shameless, Tony.” Tony narrows his eyes at him.

Quentin frows, faintly. Drags that finger further along, and then slips it into Tony’s mouth, pressing against his tongue, under it, to the roof of Tony’s mouth. “Why is that so hot?” Quentin mutters. 

Goddamn, Tony hates not being able to tease him for that. He licks Quentin’s finger instead. 

Quentin laughs softly and drops to his knees.

“What?” Tony says without thinking, and even if it comes out as nothing but garbled noise, the tone is pretty clear.

“If this all goes wrong,” Quentin says, glancing up at him; fuck, those eyes always get him, just too vivid to seem real. “If we have to stop, I want to have had at least some fun first. So it’s my turn first. Or your turn, however you want to look at it.” He smirks, and it’s terrible how much Tony loves that look on him. 

Tony whines anyway, protesting, because he wants Quentin’s cock now, goddamit. If he’s getting a blowjob—and he loves Quentin’s blowjobs—he doesn’t want to be wearing a gag for it. Doesn’t want to be drooling everywhere, maybe even on Quentin, ugh, doesn’t want to be unable to tell Quentin how fucking hot he is, how good his mouth is. 

He’s noisy about it even once Quentin’s mouth is on him; there’s no point in protesting, but it’s kind of fun. “Oh, fuck you,” he tries for, and that actually almost comes through. Quentin laughs at it, his breath huffing against Tony’s cock. 

He licks the tip, presses his lips to it and lets Tony’s cock push in, slowly, tight and hot. Tony moans, gasps. Tries one last protest, a long drawn out ‘ugh’ that’s pretty clear too. 

“You were right about making it clear without words,” Quentin says, dryly, pulling off and looking up. Hesitates. “But that’s not really anything but noise, is it.” 

He doesn’t say it like a question, but it still is, still clear from the way he’s carefully watching, waiting. Tony wrinkles his nose, whining, dragging it into a frustrated, irritable noise. Slips his hand into Quentin’s hair, letting it slide through his fingers. 

Quentin grins. “God, you’re such a drama queen.”

Oh, seriously? ‘What are you going to do about it’ doesn’t come through at all, but the challenging tone? Yeah, Quentin knows that. 

Apparently the answer is ‘blow your mind by sucking your cock’, and you know what? Tony’s not going to argue with that. 

Quentin really is amazing at giving head; maybe it’s just from practice, or because he’s so attentive, responsive, or maybe it’s just that he really seems to like doing it. Whatever the reason, he manages to make it look as good as it feels, which isn’t easy. 

Because it feels fantastic. 

Tony’s always noisy during sex. He can’t help it; half the time he isn’t even entirely aware of it. But he’s always talking, always saying things or making obscene sounds, and that doesn’t stop just because he’s gagged. The spit already dripping on his chest is humiliating enough, but the way he sounds now, the way all his noises have gone—louder, completely unintelligible, desperate and animalistic—that’s just as bad. It shouldn’t be, there’s no reason, but it really is, it really does hook into him and twist up his stomach when he registers what it sounds like. 

But it doesn’t stop him. 

Quentin pulls back, dropping down to suck on Tony’s balls and the sound Tony lets out at that is ridiculous. 

“Jesus,” Quentin says. “Maybe I’ll have to gag you for this more often, because I cannot believe how hot you sound. Fuck, Tony, you really never do shut up.” Tony huffs, cutting off his next moan as best he can out of spite. “No,” Quentin says. “Oh, no Tony, don’t do that. I love that you never shut up, don’t start now.”

Well it’s not like he could have kept it up. And it’s not like he gets any quieter the closer he gets; he doesn’t understand how his mouth can feel so dry from gasping, sucking in each breath, and still be soaking wet with spit. It doesn’t make any sense, fuck, he— 

He clings to Quentin’s hair, jerking his hips up into his mouth. Begs, uselessly, but Quentin knows that tone too. Gives him exactly what he wants, Tony going breathless as he comes. 

And then boneless, flopping back on the bed and panting. God, Quentin is good. Quentin kisses his thigh, rests his head there and rubs his other hand up and down the length of Tony’s calf. Leans in and licks, delicately, at the tip of Tony’s cock, probably going for the last few drops. He always, always swallows, every bit of it. It’s stupid how hot it is. 

Quentin stands and Tony looks up at him, feeling heavy, sated. “Come on,” Quentin says, voice rougher. “My turn,” and he tugs at Tony’s legs, pulling off the bed. Keeps ahold of him, not really letting Tony fall so much as slide down the side of the bed, his legs spread wide. Tony gets one tucked underneath him before Quentin’s hand is in his hair. 

Before Quentin’s cock is at his lips, Quentin hesitating a moment before he slides it in. 

It’s not really— it’s not much a regular blowjob, like this. Tony can’t close his mouth around Quentin, can’t suck or get any rhythm going or any real pressure. He’s still warm though, and wet—so fucking wet—and he can use his tongue, can trace it along Quentin’s cock as it slips further back. 

They’ve gotten to this point before, even gotten Quentin’s cock down in Tony’s throat— which had been fucking amazing. Tony would have been perfectly happy to stay like that for ages, the heavy, massive pressure of it filling his throat, blocking off his air; would have been perfectly happy to suffocate on Quentin’s cock if it was up to him. But he’d had to pull off frantically after a few goes, feeling his jaw tighten and fearing for a second it’d spasm, biting Quentin despite himself. 

He doesn’t have to worry about that now, and he’s never been more grateful that he destroyed his gag reflex years ago. Because Quentin is teasing him, the asshole, is thrusting almost far enough back before he pulls back out. Over and over, in a way that is just killing Tony. He yanks his head back, finally, glaring up at Quentin. 

It’s not even words he attempts, just a noise, a frustrated, demanding noise. He needs Quentin’s cock in him _now._

“You’re always so cock hungry,” Quentin says, “always so greedy. Fuck, okay, okay,” and the next time he thrusts in— the next time— Shit, it feels so good, having it finally hit the back of his mouth, having it push into his throat, huge and overwhelming. Tony moans, shoving his head down further. He’s going to take all of it this time. 

Distantly, he’s aware of Quentin cursing, groaning as he starts to thrust into Tony’s mouth, aware of how his jaw is already far past aching, how he’s disgustingly slick with spit, how he’s moaning without end, muffled each time Quentin’s cock is stuffed into his throat. But it’s just that, distant, Tony’s whole world narrowed down to the cock in his mouth, the gasping breaths he manages around each withdrawal, the way his face finally grinds into the hair at Quentin’s crotch. Yes, Tony thinks, yes, yes _yes._

Quentin holds him there for a long moment, breathing harshly, and Tony lets him as long as he can, his head swimming as each second passes. Has to pull back, finally, Quentin instantly letting him go as Tony pulls of entirely, gasping for air. “Tony,” Quentin says, “fuck, Tony, Tony— you’re so red, you’re crying, you’re— you’re okay? Are you?”

Tony nods as emphatically as he can and leans back in, getting Quentin’s cock back where it belongs and looking up at him. He moans, with a bit of a whine to it, a sound he only ever makes when he’s sucking Quentin’s cock. A sound that Quentin should know perfectly well means ‘please’. Means ‘please get on with it and fuck my mouth right this second’.

He gets it. 

It’s amazing, the way Quentin starts fucking his mouth, fucking deep into Tony’s throat with each thrust, how Tony can just go limp and let him, let himself be used like that. Unbelievable, and Tony is definitely losing his mind a little, everything smeary around the edges— but maybe that’s just the tears, squeezed from his eyes as Quentin fucks him. 

He opens them wide when Quentin pulls out suddenly, leaving him feeling utterly empty. Stares up at Quentin, at how he’s jerking himself off, groaning as he comes. There’s a splash against Tony’s cheek, but Quentin’s aiming the rest, shooting it right into his mouth. It’s hot, a little musky, and barely any of it makes it down Tony’s throat. He can swallow, but he can’t force it back, most of it mixing with his spit and dripping right back out, down his chin, further. 

“Fuck,” Quentin whispers, and his hand is shaking faintly as he wipes up a little of that mess, presses it back into Tony’s mouth. Presses his fingers into Tony’s mouth, two, three, pushing them back further and further; Tony licks at them, around them, as much as he can. “That was incredible, Tony.”

Tony lets his head drop back against the edge of the bed, Quentin’s fingers slipping out. God, he feels well used. His throat feels raw, will feel sore for days and he loves it. He jerks his chin up, raising an eyebrow, and Quentin gets the hint pretty quick. Hauls Tony up first, getting him back n the bed before he undoes the straps, gently pulling the gag from Tony’s mouth. Holy shit, his jaw aches. 

He works it side to side gingerly, and Quentin watches him for a moment. Shudders and crawls up on the bed next to Tony, flopping down on his back. He rubs his hand up Tony’s back, and Tony sighs, leaning into it. 

Now that the moment has passed, the mess of spit and come on him is more than just humiliating; it’s disgusting, ugh. “What,” Quentin says as Tony stands. “Tony? Is—” Tony turns to him, gestures at his front. “Oh,” Quentin says, and smirks. “Yeah, you’re a fucking mess.” 

The gets him a glare before Tony disappears into the bathroom. He should really just take a shower, but that sounds like entirely too much work and too much time away from Quentin to be worth it. He wipes himself off as best he can instead, rubs at his jaw. That’s going to last a while too. 

It’s almost funny; in the mirror, it barely looks like he’s given a blowjob at all, his lips just a litter redder than usual. 

Quentin glances over when Tony comes back in. “You are okay, right?” he asks, and Tony probably should have hauled him along with; he’s had too long to start worrying again. 

“I’m fine, I’m way better than fine,” Tony says. Starts to say. 

Because nothing comes out at all, and that’s just— damn, he’s had some people fuck him hoarse enough he couldn’t be understood, but this? Goddamn, that’s hot.

“Tony?” Quentin says, sitting up. “What’s wrong? What— what happened?” 

Tony grins, crawling up next to him. Pulls him in and kisses him, dirty, Quentin startled for a second. “Seriously,” Quentin whispers when they break apart. “You didn’t say anything.”

‘Can’t,’ Tony mouths, and Quentin frowns before he catches it. 

“You… can’t?” he says. “I don’t— shit, Tony, did I do that? Is that because I— did I fuck something up? Are you going to be okay? Tony—”

Tony puts his hand over Quentin’s mouth. ‘I’m great,’ he tries, repeats it when Quentin doesn't seem to catch it. Quentin shakes his head slightly, and Tony nods. Nods again when Quentin shakes his head harder, and then rolls his eyes. ‘Perfect,’ Tony tells him, as clearly as he can; catches Quentin's head and yanks him back up when Quentin tries to move away, holding him in place. ‘Perfect.’ 

Quentin reaches out and touches Tony’s mouth, running his finger along his lips. In the end it’s probably that, the stupid, inane grin Tony can’t seem to keep off his face that convinces Quentin things are fine. That he doesn’t need to worry about what he’s fucked up this time. 

“Alright,” Quentin says, finally. “I get it. You’re fine, you weirdo.” Better, Tony thinks, and pushes him over, landing half on top of him. Bites lightly at Quentin’s collarbone and raises an eyebrow when Quentin glares down at him. 

“Yeah,” Quentin says after a minute, Tony waiting impatiently. “I really liked it too. It— you’re right. It was pretty close to perfect.” He glances down again and huffs. “Don’t look so smug about it.”

Tony’s going to be insufferably smug about it for a while, until he gets Quentin to snap and decide to fuck him senseless again.

Of course he was right.


End file.
